A Cure for Running
by jannikajade
Summary: Sam is tired of running. She just doesn't know how to stand still. Cam.


**Disclaimer**: Nope. Not even a little bit mine.

* * *

Sam hates this office. She hates these walls. She hates all these stupid little kids sneezing and coughing and playing with broken toys and fighting with each other. She hates all these people and the way they're staring at her, wondering why she's all alone. She wants to start a fight with one of them, just to make herself feel better, but she knows Carly would disapprove if she was here, and Sam is tired of disappointing Carly. Sometimes, she feels like all she's done for the past few years is disappoint Carly, and it makes her heart hurt, makes it twist and shoot pain down to her stomach until she feels like throwing up. So she sits on her hands and tries to focus on the music coming from her headphones, hoping they call her name soon.

They don't, they call five different sneezy little kids, and almost an hour passes, and Sam is still sitting in the waiting room, getting stared at by women pretending they're concerned. Whatever. Sam can take care of herself. She always has. Well, ok. That's a lie. Sam can't actually take care of herself at all, but Carly can, and Carly would be here if Sam had told her, and that's all that matters. Sam is pretty sure that even that should be enough to stop these women from looking at her like that, because having Carly on her side is all she's ever needed. Carly Shay is just that amazing. She always has been. Since they were little kids themselves, and Sam used to tell Carly everything, used to tell her when her Mom disappeared for days, or when she was scared and lonely, or when her heart was broken because she couldn't go on field trips, or be in class plays, because no one had signed her permission slip or made her a costume. Now she hides it all behind 'hungry', and she forges her notes, and Spencer takes care of the rest for her, but she knows Carly still hears all the words Sam can't say anymore.

The receptionist finally calls her, and Sam walks as slow as she can towards the woman, scowling the whole time. They take her vitals and ask her a bunch of boring questions. Sam considers lying, but then she remembers that this is important. So she gives real answers, probably not as politely as she should, but hey, no one's perfect.

It's just that she has these stupid headaches, and they won't go away, and symptoms that won't go away make Carly nervous, and Sam doesn't want to worry her- and she'd like her head to stop hurting, so she's here. She explains all that, not the Carly parts, but the rest, to the nurse who just shakes her head and makes some notes and asks if there is any chance Sam could be pregnant. Sam winces and shakes her head, because no, that was seven disappointments ago, and she hasn't been stupid like that since. She's stopped trying that one. It didn't work at all, and it just led to her sitting on the floor in Carly's bathroom, freaking out and waiting for a symbol to appear in a window while Carly held her hand tight and bite her lips and looked like she was trying to find the right words. It had been horrible, and scary, and the worst part had been the hurt in Carly's eyes, and Sam knows. She does. She gets it. She knows she's stupid and she knows she's making mistakes and she knows she should just stop, but everyone once in awhile she gets overcome with this need to get Carly out of her head. To feel normal, or the way she's supposed to or whatever. So she does stupid things, and then Carly holds her hand and shakes her head and tries not to look hurt while they deal with the consequences.

Sam considers asking the nurse if they have a cure for that, for the way she's always getting in her own way. The way she's always letting them get so close, letting things between them get to that almost place, and then freaking out and running. She wonders if they can fix that, if there is a cure for running. She's so damn tired of running; she just doesn't know how to stop. She wonders what the nurse would say. She looks like the sort who likes to give advice. If Sam hadn't already insulted her nine times while answering the pointless questions, she'd actually consider asking her. She can't now though, and it doesn't matter because the nurse is turning around and walking away anyway, telling her the doctor will be right with her. Sam leans back against the wall and sighs, preparing for another long wait.

She wonders what she'll do if they tell her something is wrong, if they tell her she needs scary tests, or hospital stays. She'll have to tell Carly if that happens, and then Carly will have to help her through it all, again. It's not her fault this time, but the thought still makes Sam feel guilty, the way only Carly can. She wonders if maybe it is her fault. If her head hurts because she keeps messing things up, and someone somewhere has decided she deserves this. It wouldn't surprise her. She wonders if maybe she's dying. Dead at sixteen, almost seventeen, dead because she keeps running away from the only thing that makes her happy (really happy, not just the buzz she gets from eating meat or harassing teachers.) Dead because if she's going to think things like that about her best friend- if she's going to think about how Carly makes her happy and how beautiful Carly is and how sometimes when Sam has to sleep at her own house she pretends her covers are Carly's arms, holding her all night- if she's going to think things like that about her very female best friend, she should at least have the courage to stop running.

It does take awhile, she's sure at least twenty minutes pass with her by herself in the little exam room, left to think more. She's wondering who would come to her funeral if she is dying, and if Freddie would make her a nice tribute video for , and if they'd have to shut the site down- when she hears a commotion in the hall. There's arguing, and stomping, and then there's- Carly.

"Oh, whatever. I know she's back there. She's my best friend, just let me in," Carly says, and Sam's heart speeds up. A nurse says something about minors and families and Carly scoffs and yells for Spencer. A couple of minutes later the arguing turns to giggling, and Sam shakes her head in spite of her racing pulse, because Spencer charm works every time. A few seconds after the giggling starts, Carly opens the door of Sam's exam room, looking worried.

"Hey Carls," Sam says, sitting on her hands again.

"What's going on? Are you ok? Are you sick? Why didn't you tell me you were coming? Freddie was at the Pear Store across the street and he saw your mom's truck in the parking lot, and when he called I came right over, and what's going on?" Carly says, all breathless like she gets sometimes.

"It's nothing," Sam tries, and Carly sighs,

"Sam."

"It's just, I've been getting these headaches, you know, and they're kind of a pain, so I thought I'd come see if they could make them stop," Sam shrugs.

"I thought those had stopped. You haven't told me you had a headache in weeks," Carly says.

"Yeah, well, they didn't."

'Why didn't you tell me?"

"It's not a big deal," Sam tries. Carly puts her hands on hips.

"_You _went to the doctor. It's obviously a big deal," She says.

"I'm sure it will be fine," Sam says.

"Why didn't you tell me? I'd have come with you."

"I didn't want you to get worried," Sam says, looking down. Carly sighs and climbs on to the exam table next to Sam. That has to be against rules of some sort, but Sam isn't going to complain about Carly sitting next to her.

"I want to worry. I want to be here to worry. With you," Carly says, taking Sam's hand.

"I make you worry all the time," Sam says.

"I don't mind."

"Yes you do," Sam says, staring at the way her hand fits in Carly's, the way it always has.

"Well. Ok, sometimes I wish you didn't make me worry so much, but Sam, you have to tell me things. I still want to be there for all of them," Carly says.

"Why?" Sam asks, like they haven't had this conversation, or versions of it, a thousand times. It feels different this time though, like she might actually be ready for the answer. Something about Carly bursting into her exam room makes her feel like listening.

"You know why, " Carly says, smiling a little.

"Tell me again."

"Because you're Sam, and I'm Carly, and everything we do has to be together," Carly says.

"Everything?" Sam echoes.

"Always," Carly says, smiling and squeezing Sam's hand. It's amazing, because Sam doesn't know how Carly is always so sure, how she knows, why she hasn't just given up on Sam and run away. Sam had asked her once, drunk, five disappointments ago. She'd crawled into Carly's room and asked stupid questions about why Carly didn't just let her screw up, why she didn't just give up and find someone else, someone better, why she would ever, ever want Sam. Then she ran to Carly's bathroom and threw up, from alcohol and truth and fear. Carly had followed her, cleaned her up, brushed her hair back with her fingers, run a wash cloth over Sam's face and whispered that she didn't want anyone else, couldn't want anyone else. That it was only Sam, always.

"It's all better when you're here," Sam admits, squeezing back. Carly beams, and Sam smiles back, even though a tiny part of her still kind of hopes that the doctor will come in an announce that she's horribly contagious or something, because that would be an awesome way to run away. Carly seems to know what she's thinking, because she searches Sam's face and then sighs, just a little.

"No matter what," Carly says. Sam wants be believe it, she really does. She wants to just let it all go and fall into Carly, to pull her close and confess everything that she's sure Carly already knows, right here on this little table, but she still can't, not quite. She hates that she can't. She wants to, she wants to do it for Carly, she knows she should do it for Carly. Once, two disappointments ago, Carly had broken down and asked Sam if she was testing her somehow. She's lost her calm and asked what she had to do to make Sam stay, what she could say, how she could be there more, if there was anything she could to do prove to Sam that she meant all things she said. It had ripped Sam's heart out, ripped it out and stomped all over it and she'd never, ever felt worse her entire life than that moment, and all she could do was mumble that it wasn't Carly at all. It wasn't that Carly wasn't good enough, Carly was perfect. It was that Sam just wasn't strong enough. She hadn't quite gotten that out, but she'd promised it wasn't Carly, and they'd ended up all wrapped in each other in Carly's bed that night, and Sam had held Carly while she shook a little, things still all upside down.

"I know," Sam says, and she does, she knows that Carly means it, and she knows that Carly has had every chance to run, to let Sam run. There is just part of her, that tiny part that wants to hear bad news so she can run again, that doesn't think she'll ever be ready. That she'll ever be ready to be this happy. That she'll ever be strong enough for this. For Carly. She wishes she knew how to drown that part out, she can't ever quite do it, but there are things that sometimes make it quieter, like leaning her head on Carly's shoulder, or holding Carly's hand, or all the little things she and Carly do, all the things that are part of their everyday. Those things help. Then there are things that just- they just make it crazy. Worse and better all at once. Like the kisses they've shared, too many and not enough, never enough. Kisses that are burned in Sam's memory and that make that little part of her both disappear and scream louder than ever. She's not sure how that happens.

Carly shifts next to her, and rolls her shoulders back like she's about to say something important that she shouldn't have to say. Sam turns her head, eyes big, ready to listen. Carly takes a deep breath, and the door opens again. Sam lets out a breath and turns back around to glare at the doctor, a woman about Spencer's age. Carly squeezes her hand tighter and looks up like she's daring the doctor to make her leave. She doesn't, she smiles at them and gives them that looks they get sometimes, a look that makes Sam feel even worse, because really, if people can see, if it's that obvious, then she should start stranding still.

The doctor asks a bunch of questions, ones Sam could swear she already answered. She behaves though, and answers again, mostly just because Carly is next to her. The doctor nods and then starts giving instructions. Something about a headache journal and triggers and brain chemicals and hormone levels and daily pills, and Sam's head spins a little, but she sees Carly smiling and nodding next to her, like she thinks this is good news, and Carly knows these things, so Sam smiles, just a little. The doctor leaves again, after only a little bit, promising to send a nurse back in a little bit to explain things more.

"That was easy," Sam says when the doctor leaves, and Carly nods.

"I'm glad."

"I kind of thought I'd need like, needles or scans or something," Sam says.

"Needles?" Carly questions.

"I don't know, these people always want to stick needles in you for some reason," Sam shrugs. Carly smiles.

"I guess," She says, "I'm going to make you keep that journal, you know."

"I figured you would. Do I have to take the pills too?"

"Yes," Carly says, smirking a little.

"Bossy," Sam says affectionately, in spite of herself.

"You like it."

"Maybe," Sam shoots back, and it's easy, falling into this banter with Carly, it's easy and it makes Sam happy, a happy that rises up in her stomach and makes her heart swell, like this is a big deal and not just the way they are.

"You do," Carly smiles, "You do, even if tried to come here without me."

"I did come without you. You just found me," Sam points out.

"I always do."

"I know," Sam says, and she's about to ask a stupid question, but the door opens again before she has a chance. There are more instructions then, rules and a notebook and sheets of paper and a prescription to pick up at the desk. Carly holds her hand the whole time, even when they walk out into the lobby, and the mothers of the sneezy little kids give them looks, confused instead of pitying now. It takes them awhile to get Spencer out of the office-he'd moved from hitting on the receptionist to building with the waiting room blocks, making an elaborate sculpture of… something. He refuses to leave until all the blocks are used, and even then he seems reluctant, but then Carly mentions stopping for smoothies, and he leads them out the door. They stop for Sam's prescription, and then for smoothies, Carly promising to drive Sam back to get her mom's truck later.

Spencer makes them dinner when they get back to Carly's, and the whole time Carly keeps smiling at her, and the stupid question she'd been about to ask earlier swims around Sam's head, begging to be asked. She gets her chance after dinner, when they're up in the iCarly studio, sitting on their favorite bean bags.

"What if I was lost?" Sam asks. Carly shakes her head, and reaches for Sam's hand again, and then takes a deep breath like she'd been waiting for this.

"I'd never let you get lost, Sam," She says, and she's said it before, they've said it all before, but today, this, all of it, makes Sam feel safer than it ever has before.

"I'm really good at running away though," Sam says, turning her eyes towards Carly, who sighs and reaches forward, pulling Sam in until their foreheads are touching.

"You should try standing still," Carly says.

"I don't know how," Sam says, but she doesn't move.

"Just hold on to me. I'm still," Carly says, her fingers tangled in Sam's hair. Sam takes a deep breath.

"Ok," She says.

"Ok?" Carly echoes, sounding surprised, probably because Sam has never actually agreed before, this is normally when they just stop talking, when they kiss, or Sam runs, or they kiss and then Sam runs, or they- they just stop talking here, because Sam can never finish this conversation, or the dozens like it they've had in the past year or so.

"I want to try, for real," Sam says.

"Really?"

"I might suck at it."

"You won't," Carly says, sounding breathless. Sam smiles, and, yeah, now it's time for kissing. Now that she's said it, she closes the last few inches between them and kisses Carly softly; hoping Carly can feel Sam's promise to try as hard as she can. Carly smiles against her lips, and kisses back, and that part of Sam that usually screams louder than ever just kind of whispers, protesting silently, drowned out by the way the rest of her is filling up with happiness and warmth and Carly.

They scoot closer to each other, until they're sharing a bean bag, and their legs are overlapped, and they keep kissing, kisses Sam thinks she could live on for the rest of her life. (Well, kisses and low fat fat cakes, but whatever.) It's all warm and addicting and Sam looses track of time, so much that when they pull back a little, she has no idea if it's been minutes or hours, or possibly only seconds, or days, she wouldn't be at surprised if someone told her it was days. It doesn't matter, nothing but Carly matters, and right now Carly is holding her close, and breathing fast and Sam never wants to move again. She thinks that maybe she really will stand still this time. That maybe she can treat running like her headaches, only instead of writing things down, she can just tell Carly every time she wants to run, and instead of pills, she can just kiss Carly every day. She thinks it just might work. Sometime, she'll have to tell Carly, since she is the cure and all, but for right now, Sam thinks they've done enough talking. So she kisses Carly again, and has never been so happy to be standing still.


End file.
